Living Memories
by The-Imagery
Summary: Without Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione meet each other in another way. Hermione relives memories of her first enocunter with Ron through their relationship, and their enlightenment of magic. The first chapters will be understood better as the story continues.
1. Numb

Cold earth. She stumbled forward, and lay on the soil, letting the bitterness sear her skin, pierce her heart. The earth was solid, yet gave her no support. Her eyes were like the oceans, like the tide. The tears swelled, then flooded her cheeks, her tiny wrinkles like canals, quickly draining her emotions. Yet as high tide came again, the canals refilled and refilled and refilled. The oceans. The tide. The canals. Dripping. Dripping down her cheeks. Her overflowing eyes tried to focus on the formless shape of a tree. Its branches swaying in the wind, dancing to the winds whispers. _What do you see_, the wind asked, softly touching her face, _What do you feel?_ Nothing, she thought. Nothing. Nothing to see. Nothing to feel. _Nothing_, she whispered, under her shallow breaths. _Nothing_, she bellowed. There was nothing. The tree stopped dancing its dance, the wind stopped singing its song. Even the tides stopped. She spread her arms, allowing the sharp blades of grass painlessly prick her skin. Painlessly. She was numb. Both her body and mind. Both numb. There was nothing anymore.

Numb.


	2. Everyday

_What is this all about?,_ Hermione wondered. These people, they march the streets. Do they think? Do they question the point of this? Of life? Everyday, the same. Morning, work, home, eat, sleep, morning again, work again, home again, eat again, sleep again. Hermione forced herself to round the corner to the cold, dreary restaurant where she worked. Everyday, the same. _What would you like?_ _I'll have a #12_, they always said. Or maybe a #5, or a #17, or a #21. _Sure_, she said, looking into their eyes, as distant and colorless as her own. Eyes. The pools of misery. The seas of sadness. _Coming right up_, she would say. Coming right up. Like everything in life. Always waiting. Waiting for greatness, but waiting for what would never come. Waiting for success, but getting kicked to the curb, in hopelessly clean suits now covered with dirt. Waiting for love, but getting the heart torn, in a hopelessly cheerful smile now covered with tears. Waiting for the perfect #12, but getting soggy no frills white bread, smeared with souring mayo, topped with wilting lettuce, and overcooked roast beef. They look and smile, the smile not daring to touch those hardened eyes. Their lips move. _Just what I've been waiting for_, they lie.

Everyday, the same.


	3. Rhythm

57, 58, 59, 60. The ever-ticking hands of the clock paused at 9:00. Hermione flipped the sign to "Closed." Flipped in right it a mans face. _Please_, he cried, _hungry, let me in, please_. _No, not tonight_, Hermione said, _not tonight_. Her stormy eyes causing his overcast eyes to begin to rain. She turned and didn't look back. _Sweep, swish, sweep_. Putting the dirt in a pile. _Sweep_. The grime of people's shoes. _Swish_. The gunk of people's emotions. _Sweep_. The residue of people's broken lives. Ron, the new busboy, pulled up a chair.

"Do you hear that rhythm? That beat?"

_Sweep, swish, sweep._

"Yes, what about it?" Hermione wants him to be quiet.

"What about it?! What isn't it about? That beat, it represents everything. My heart, your heart. _Bump, pump, bump_. My hips, your hips. _Sway, swing, sway_. Everybody's pace. _Step, stomp, step_."  
"You should be cleaning, I want to leave."

He frowns, "Fine"

Ron briskly lifts up a dirty rag. _Good_, Hermione thought, _good, he's quiet_. But then she heard it. _Wipe, whoosh, wipe_. He was cleaning the table. _Wipe, whoosh, wipe_. His body started to sway to the beat.

"Won't you join me in this rhythm of life?" He continued to sway.

"I've had enough." Hermione through down her broom, stormed out the door, and slammed it shut. She left him dancing in the gloomy restaurant, with the definite "Closed" sign on the window. Hermione walked by to her apartment.

_Step. Stomp. Step._

The rhythm of life.


	4. Fools

The rain was pounding on her face. The ice cold rain burning holes through her skin, into her brain. She opened her eyes, letting the sky's tears sting, letting the drops of rain mix with her own tears. _Ha_, she laughed, _it doesn't hurt_. Nothing hurts. Thunder growled in her ear,

"You are so foolish."

"Not as foolish as you," Hermione howled back, "The earth is a life, the weather its emotions, the rain its tears, and you, you are its howls of pain, its screams of frustration that you force everyone to hear."

She opened her mouth, and let the rain quench her thirst.

"No one is as foolish as he who burdens others with his problems, as you do. I lay here and rant to you, and the moon, but not a single word of anguish reaches another ear. I am not foolish, it is you."

Lightening stuck near Hermione, the electric current lifting her energy, running through her veins, through her blood.

"And you, lightening! You are all show, you are earth's tantrums, earth's drama. You are nothing but a concert of flashes, you don't frighten me!"

Hermione closed her eyes again, and watched the flashes through the delicate skin of he eyelids. _Beautiful_, she thought, _the most gorgeous light show ever seen_.

Flashes all around, pounding her eyes. The thunder screamed, the lightening performed, the rain dripped down earth's face.

"Earth's Fools, is what you are, Earth's Fools," Hermione taunted.

The wind howled back, "Yes, we are, but so are you."  
_Yes_, she considered, _yes, you're right_.

I am a fool.


End file.
